Behind Starry-Eyed Galaxies and Endless Possibilities
by MustBeDreaming13
Summary: "You do not know why you trusted this madman...maybe it was because he had promised you all of time and space, and you were weary of your old, boring life back home." How would you feel the first time you travelled with the Doctor? Well, this is my take on it.


**So, as you can see, I have changed my pen name. Scandalous, eh? Haha, not really. But I've been dying to do so for a long time. Also, this story here was actually written for my English 12 class where we were supposed to write a descriptive essay. And since I got a good grade on it, I decided to share it with my fellow fanfictors. Basically what it is, is what I thought I would experience as the Doctor's companion, at least the first time travelling with him. Although I did kind of steal the bit where he's holding Amy's ankle, allowing her to float in space. But I put myself in her place with my own thoughts and feelings if I were in the situation. You can take it however you like, but I really did enjoy writing this. Also, if anyone who has read _Our Lives Never Should Have Touched_ is reading this, don't worry, I'm working on it. I've just been trying to organize the thoughts on the story in my head beause it's going to be a really confusing story, you know, all timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly, and junk. Because Doctor Who is just like that and I have never written a story like that in my life, so bear with me. I should have a couple chapters up over Christmas break, but don't hold me to it. Anyway, back to the story...I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it! :) I do not own Doctor Who and yada yada blah blah blah, you know the spiel. :p**

Here you are, floating in outer space, your mess of brunette locks gliding in the open atmosphere. You barely register the whir of the precious time machine sounding from behind you, and you most definitely do not pay heed to the mystical man tightening his grip around your ankle so that you may not drift away. You do not know why you trusted this madman—maybe it was because of the lonely look in his eyes. Or maybe it was because he had promised you all of time and space, and you were weary of your old, boring life back home. You try and convince yourself it is the latter, but you know in your heart that you just had to get away, fly away, even if it just meant for a little while. But you had not been prepared for this, the beauty of it all; the mad man had kept his promise, oh yes. But now it seemed like more than a promise; it seemed like a lesson to be learned. A lesson you have not quite experienced yet and it frightens you, all the way down to your core—a lesson learned in time.

Space is not what you had imagined, but most of all you had expected it to be silent, hardly a whisper of a soul being uttered. But it is so alive, so full of sound and activity, other worlds with other living creatures being and breathing; the _whoosh_ of space jets as they speedily fly on by and the harmony of alien children's laughter erupting on the planet just below you captivate your ears. The crackling of an intense fire soon catches your attention, your head pivoting to behold a meteor shower raining down on a few small planets below. But the residents seem to register it barely, almost as if rocks of flame barreling towards them were no different than a light drizzle of water droplets on earth. You are taken aback when you hear singing, almost as if someone were whistling and humming along to his favorite tune. But as you tilt your head back you realize the melody is the chorus of shooting stars, their harmonious voices bursting forth into a beautiful crescendo as they climb higher and higher, the end of the ballad drawing near; you close your eyelids and commit to memory the final note: a powerful murmur of passionate voices and stirred hearts. You gaze in wonder at such inspired beings, thinking to yourself, "How can these tiny things have such fervid spirits while I, a supposed important being, have such an apathetic one?"

You soak in the sights of the nebulae surrounding you, bursting with various shades of purple, red, and pink, vivid with such expression in each and every stroke that you are almost positive not even the great Van Gogh could have portrayed it like so. Something immense then captures your eye and you twist your body toward the source and begin to gaze at it, a darting quasar beaming its light of energy toward you. And you can just see its power radiating, enrapturing everything and everyone around it; you had been taught in school that their energy was far vaster than that of any galaxy for it was the eldest celestial body, but that tiny piece of information was nothing compared to what you are witnessing now. You can see its endless age in the way it bent forward, but not because it was weak but because it was wise, staring into you and studying your very being. You can also perceive its greatness by the way the sapphire sparkled, the light dancing in your childlike irises, its eye burning an imprint on your heart and mind. And it is then you allow the colors and elegance of the nebulae and quasars to captivate you completely, hugging you with heavenly peace, nestling you down into a bed of quiet warmth.

And just as you begin to marvel at the colorful spectacles around you, you notice the massive black hole below you, not close enough to snatch you away, but close enough to make your body go numb with terror. The center of the snarling monster glares at you with such ferocity that you can feel your pulse quickening with each millisecond of pure dread; your pupils dilate and you clench your fists, reminding yourself that it cannot take you, _steal_ you away. But you are not so keen anymore of reason or logic as it growls at you evilly, reaching forward with its nightmarish hand, sending a gasp to escape from your slightly parted lips. You bite down hard on your tongue, the taste of warm blood filling your mouth from the impact, daring yourself not to cry. You are suddenly distracted by the tickle of stagnant stars happily kissing your toes with crimson, comforting you, if only for a moment. You giggle thankfully for the interruption, tears of relief trailing down your rosy cheeks. It is then you are disturbed once more, a burning sensation forming on your back, the hairs on your neck standing on end in anticipation. You slowly gulp, sending the lump in your throat back down to where it belongs, and let your sight travel carefully to the corner of your eye. You have heard that it is said that you never notice the images in the corner of your eye because they are the things you usually do not want to believe. And when you catch the bright orange of flame it is not that you did not want to believe it, it is that you _can_not believe you had not seen it before. You twirl around quickly, facing the enormous ball of fire, the heat of it fully palpable on your skin. You cringe at the touch of its hand, your skin starting to redden profusely, but you risk not looking away; you know full well that you may go blind gazing at the light for too long, but you can feel it in your soul, stirring anger inside of you because you can feel what it is doing: scorching, seeing, _knowing_. Silent sobs begin to wrack your entire body and you are shaking with fear, for whatever reason, and it is then that you realize you do not like believing the things in the corner of your eye.

He hastily pulls you down, away from the birthplace of your newfound grief and draws you near to him, his worried eyes searching your face. Finally, he inquires what made you so distressed and you try to answer, but it seems your tongue has betrayed you, almost as if your native language is now foreign to you. He instructs you to wrap yourself in a blanket and drink a few sips of tea in order to calm you down, if only briefly; he leaves you alone as you desperately try and collect yourself and sometime during this process you gather that you are not grieved at all. You are amazed, stunned, and maybe even a little frightened, but you are not sad. During some point while you were hanging wordlessly above the countless planets and dangling below whizzing, iridescent stars you learned your lesson. Not all of it, of course, but you understood the basis of it. You had lived in a world that consisted of over six billion souls, busying themselves with meaningless tasks and tiresome schedules. You had been one of these individuals, bustling about, never even thinking there could be more out there—never considering that the impossible just might be possible. But most prominently you learned that you are the most insignificant being in this universe, yet you are the most brilliant at the exact same time, being so small and so human yet being created for a single purpose. To defend the universe with every fiber in your being and to stand up for what is right even when no one else is standing next to you. Not to shuffle about this world in a dull daze, but to explore creation and to enjoy the splendor of what you know and to discover what you do not know already, the seemingly impossible. To live every miniscule second with an open mind, breathing in through hungry senses and to die with a noble heart, breathing out with satisfied lungs. To accomplish the improbable and embrace the improbable; _that_ is what everyone is meant to do. Because it is now well-known to you that nothing, no matter where or what or how, is impossible. You close your eyelids, crossing your beating heart with a determined finger, vowing to keep that promise: to protect, to defend, to explore, and to believe, wherever you may go, until the day you die.


End file.
